


Fruit

by emef



Category: Die Hard (Movies), Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Closeted Character, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:47:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emef/pseuds/emef
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of John McClane's first partner. Sort of an extreme prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4105897">The Price of Salt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dodificus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodificus/gifts).



> Written for her eloquent prompt: "john/first partner guy stuff"

He’s just so fucking docile. Like a golden retriever. So earnest. Who can look in that face and feel indifferent? And no man should have hips that narrow, it’s unnatural. Jesus.

“Hey, man, I got you a cruller. You like those, right?”

And he keeps bringing me stuff. I’ve only been here for a couple more years than him, practically still a goddamn rookie myself, but he treats me like, fuck, like he wants to impress me.

“Thanks, McClane.”

I wish I could make myself be sarcastic at him, make him stop looking at me like that. But he keeps looking at me like that. And he fucking loves this job. He’s fucking excited about getting to do this job.

“Anything new today?” He asks, practically wagging his tail.

“Thought we’d go talk to Wanda.”

We’ve been partners for, what is it… three months? Four? Four months and I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for McClane to show up one morning and just… not be able to look me in the eye. For him to catch a fucking clue.

Fuck, it wouldn’t have to be someone else telling him - maybe he’d just catch me when I forget not to look at him. On one of those days, when things go right and he convinces me to let him buy a round. When I’m tired and he’s trying to make me laugh and he’s wearing one of those t-shirts that keep riding up, ‘cause he’s telling a story and waving his arms in the air. And then he’d see me looking down at the strip of skin there, and he’d _finally get wise_ , get all outraged and disgusted, maybe even punch me, and I could _finally move on_.

“Hey Wanda.” Wanda owns a fruit cart.

“Hey there pretty boy.” She reaches up to pat my cheek. “Geoffrey, hon, I hardly ever see you.”

“Sorry, Wanda. You been keeping safe, now?”

“Yes, I - oh!” She’s caught sight of McClane. “You’ve brought me another pretty boy.”

McClane _takes his goddamn hat off_. “Hello Ms., um…”

“Petrowski.” She says, and holds out a basket. “Peach?”

“Uh.” He just stares at it.

“Unless you’d prefer a banana?” She says, not missing a beat.

Oh jesus. No she’s not. No no no no no. “Hey Wanda!” I give her my most winning smile. “Seen anything unusual lately?”

The smile works, and it takes about forty five seconds to know that she doesn’t have anything useful to tell us, nothing weird been happening on the street, nobody acting weird or nothing, but the whole thing takes about twelve minutes. Gotta have a nice chat, to make sure she’s happy to talk to us in the future. She knows _everything_ , s’worth the time.

“Does every single person in this neighbourhood know you name, man?” McClane asks, when we finally get away.

He’s so impressed all the time. On his third day, I explained about how support staff - receptionists and shit - like it when you know their name, and how if they like you, they tell you stuff. And he’d been so amazed. Like the poor kid had never met a competent person in his entire life.

“Nah, man, I just - I bought fruit from her a couple times, and then we got to talking.”

“What was that about peaches and bananas?”

He looks at me when he says it, and the light catches his eyes, green and fucking mesmerizing. I want to… I want to tell him, somehow. I want to _believe_. I want to think that this time, this one time, it’ll be okay to open up, to say things out loud. John McClane is just _so fucking dutiful_ , so dependable, so _adorable_ and I just want, I want, I want to think he’ll be okay with it.

I look up at him, and realize how close he is. He smiles a little.

I take a deep breath. Push the hair out of my eyes. “Nah, man. She’s just messing with you.”


End file.
